


Tattoo My Heart

by chiiyo86



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Gen, Introspection, Post-Season/Series 02, Sibling Bonding, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:00:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25931761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chiiyo86/pseuds/chiiyo86
Summary: Vanya gets the Umbrella Academy tattoo. Her siblings react.
Relationships: Vanya Hargreeves & The Hargreeves
Comments: 14
Kudos: 199





	Tattoo My Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Loved season 2, diving back head first into the fandom. This fic started as a very basic "wouldn't it be cool if Vanya had the tattoo, since it's one thing that still sets her apart?" and then I thought of the emotional ramifications for everybody. Enjoy!

It started as a silly impulse. Vanya had been hit with it as she walked the streets, cataloguing the differences with the city that now only lived in her and her siblings’ memories. Vanya hadn’t led a very active social life, in fact she’d avoided places with too many people, but she’d liked going on walks, looking in from the outside. Everything looked mostly the same, but here and there she noticed small changes that intrigued her, making her wonder if they were a result of the Sparrow Academy having replaced the Umbrella Academy, or if her and her family’s actions had triggered other unwilling modifications to the timeline. Here, a bakery had replaced a restaurant. There, a street had a different name, or new streets had unexpectedly opened up where blocks of office buildings used to stand. This was how Vanya had stumbled on the tattoo parlor that replaced the coffee shop she used to go to because it was so close to her apartment. 

She’d walked in it on an impulse. She’d asked how much it would cost her to make a tattoo with the design she wanted on an impulse. By the time she was sitting in the chair, sweating at the sight of the needle, it really couldn’t be called an impulse anymore, but a decision. The tattoo artist, a woman in her early twenties with blue hair and twirling designs wrapped around her arms, looked at her in sympathy.

“If this is your first one,” she said, “then you should choose something smaller. And the inside of the wrist is one of the most painful areas.”

“No, it has to be exactly this way,” Vanya said, though her skin had crawled with goosebumps at the woman’s words. “It’s important.”

“All right,” the artist said with a shrug. “It’s your body.” 

In their timeline, the woman would have recognized the Umbrella Academy tattoo and would have probably assumed that Vanya was a fan. In this one, it didn’t mean anything to her. 

“I’m ready,” Vanya said, swallowing to try and bring moisture to her dry mouth. “You can start.”

It had hurt as much as promised. It wasn’t just the intensity of the pain, but also how long it lasted. Several times, Vanya had almost asked the artist to stop, almost said that she’d changed her mind and didn’t want it anymore, but then she’d thought of how ridiculous the tattoo would look unfinished. Her siblings had it done when they were eleven; surely at thirty she could bear it a little longer. She had to look away, though, as watching drops of her own blood seep from the black lines made her feel vaguely queasy. 

It was only once she was standing in front of the door to the apartment she rented with her siblings that Vanya started to feel stupid about what she’d done. She’d let eleven-year-old Vanya decide for her. What were the others going to say? With a sigh, she opened the front door. The place, which they’d found when they had to scramble for somewhere to regroup after having been kicked out of their childhood home, was a three-room apartment, with two bedrooms and a main living area. It was much too small for six people, which would probably lead to fratricide sooner or later. This was why Vanya had felt the need to go on a walk and Five had fled to the library. She walked into the narrow entrance hall and tentatively poked her head inside the living room, trying to get a feel for the general mood. Klaus was lounging on the couch, his feet on Allison’s lap while she painted his toenails with a flashy shade of orange, fluffy balls of cotton separating each toe. Luther and Diego were sitting at the dinner table, playing Monopoly with such looks of intense concentration that one might have thought they were playing for their lives. Five was nowhere to be seen; he would probably stay at the library until they threw him out.

“Hey, Vanya,” Allison said, waving the hand that held the brush, her other hand holding Klaus’ right big toe in place. “Did you have a nice walk?”

“I did, yes,” Vanya said, walking to the table to have a look at Luther and Diego’s game. Luther was cradling the pair of dice in his huge hands, looking thoughtful.

“Hey,” he said to Diego. “Can you control how a die fall?”

“Now that’s a thought,” Klaus said, straightening up slightly from his slouch. “I do remember you winning a suspicious number of games when we were kids. So what do you have to say in your defense, Number Two? Have you been abusing your powers, hmm?”

“I’m not a cheater!” Diego said indignantly. “And we said no more numbers, remember?”

“But _could_ you do it?” Luther said pointedly, the dice clicking in the middle of his palm. 

“What—I don’t know! Just throw the goddamn dice, Luther.”

Klaus started laughing. “Ha! Diego. Is. A. Cheater!” he said in a singsong voice. “Ow, Allison!”

“Stop wriggling if you don’t want me to mess your nails,” Allison said, slapping his leg again.

“That’s ruthless of you, sister mine, holding my toes hostage. You know how much I hate a botched nail job.”

“Then stay still, for god’s sake.”

“Vanya,” Diego said, turning to her, “please say something. Tell them I’m not a cheater.”

“I’m sure Diego never cheated at a game,” Vanya said mildly, smiling a bit at the fact that Diego was asking _her_ to defend him.

“Thank you!” Diego gave a quick glance to her arm, then a second one. “What’s that?” he asked sharply.

“What’s what?” Vanya said uneasily, because she knew what he was talking about.

“That bandage on your wrist,” he said, sounding accusatory, and pointed at the white corner of the bandage the artist had applied on the fresh tattoo.

“Nothing,” Vanya said. Stupidly, she pulled down on her shirt sleeve, which of course only resulted in drawing everyone’s attention to her arm. 

“Doesn’t look like nothing. No one gets bandaged for fun.”

“It’s really nothing. I swear.”

“Vanya, did you get hurt?” Allison asked with a frown.

“Was it the Sparrow Academy?” Diego asked, and in less time than it took Vanya to blink, a knife had materialized in his hand.

“No! God, Diego, calm down, I wasn’t _attacked_.”

“You can tell us if something happened,” Luther said in the soft, careful voice he used with her now. “Why didn’t you call one of us if you had to go to the ER?”

“Because I didn’t—” She’d hoped she wouldn’t have to tell them right away. It was sweet of them to worry, but this was getting wildly out of hand. “I’m not hurt. I just, I got a tattoo. That’s all, there’s nothing to worry about.”

“A tattoo.” Luther blinked, like he had trouble working out the concept. “Oh, that’s nice. What sort of tattoo?”

“It’s—” She should tell them now, like ripping off a band-aid. “I got the Umbrella Academy design on the inside of my wrist. Like you, I mean.”

The others looked at her in stunned silence for so long it made her want to squirm. Living in 1963 for a month without her memories had changed her in many ways. Although all she’d wanted at the time was to remember something, _anything_ , it had allowed her to live an unburden existence, given her a glimpse of who she could be without the weight of her childhood on her shoulders. She’d gained new confidence from it, making her able to hang out with her siblings without feeling like she had to apologize for existing. But sometimes—like right now, with all of them looking at her—her old insecurities resurfaced.

“Will someone please say something?” she said. As if they’d only been waiting for a cue to speak, the room exploded into a cacophony of voices.

“Sorry,” Luther said. “It’s just. I don’t really get—”

“Why?” Diego snapped, wearing the pinched angry look that meant he was upset. “Why would you do this?”

“Oh, Vanya,” Klaus said mournfully, “if you wanted a tattoo you should have come to me. I’ve done quite a few; I could have helped you choose an artist, and, like, a better design.”

“Dad branded all of us,” Diego said, working himself up to an angry rant, “like we were cattle, like he _owned_ us, so how could you _choose_ —”

“Jesus, Diego, will you please shut up?” Allison said. Then to Vanya, more softly and with a touch of anxiety, “You know you don’t have to get the tattoo for us to see you as part of the family, right?”

“Like, there are some lovely violin designs,” Klaus went on, “Or music notes! Music notes are cool, right? Anything is better than having the old man’s mark on you. Ew, I never thought about it that way; I just made myself sick.”

“I know I didn’t need to do it,” Vanya said to Allison. “That’s not why—”

“Or part of the team. You’re part of the Umbrella Academy, with or without the tattoo.”

“The Umbrella Academy doesn’t even exist anymore!” Diego blurted out, throwing his hands up in the air. “It doesn’t mean anything in this timeline!”

“Don’t get angry at Vanya,” Luther said. “She can do whatever she wants with—"

“I can get angry with anyone I goddamn—”

“Okay, okay, stop it!” Vanya shouted. They all fell silent. “I’m sorry, all right? I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“We’re not—” Allison said, but Vanya interrupted her.

“It was just a stupid impulse I had. What’s done is done, anyway. I’m just—I’m gonna get some air.”

She stormed into the bedroom she shared with Allison and Klaus, and opened the window to access the fire escape. 

“Wait, Vanya,” Luther called after her, but if he said anything else, it was cut off when she shut the window behind her. 

Exhaling wearily, she pressed her back against the wall and slid down until she was sitting. She’d thought they would find it stupid, but she hadn’t expected such a fuss. She wavered between feeling annoyed and guilty about it, and then settled on tired. They were definitely spending way too much time with each other—it was a sign of how things had changed for her, actually, that she now saw so much of her siblings that she could get sick of it. She supposed it was a good thing, in a way.

There was nothing to look at from the fire escape, no bird’s-eye view of the city, as it overlooked the narrow back alley that separated their building from another identical brick construction. Leaning the back of her head against the wall, Vanya wished for a distraction. She missed Sissy and Harlan; she missed her uncomplicated life in a Texas farm. They’d thought they had no choice but to go back to 2019, where they belonged, and it had turned out that they didn’t belong here either. The only thing she could cling to was her siblings, but they were still trying to work out their new family dynamic.

Five popped on the fire escape next to her, holding a steaming tin mug that smelled strongly of coffee. He could have gone through the window, like she had, but then he wouldn’t be Five if he did things the normal way, would he?

“Heard you caused something of a commotion,” he said, leaning his elbows on the rusty metal railing.

“Yeah,” she said softly. “I seem to do that a lot.”

“They overreacted,” Five said dismissively. He blew on his mug and took a small sip of his coffee. “You know how they are, they’re prone to that sort of thing.”

“I know,” Vanya said. 

She didn’t say how it had made her feel like a child, which she hated. Being an actual child had never been a pleasant experience for her, so she didn’t enjoy being reminded of it. But she didn’t want to invite a comment from Five on how they were all children to him, so she kept that thought to herself.

“So, did it hurt very badly?” he asked. When she gave him a look, he said, “It’s been a while for me. I don’t really remember.”

And he’d probably gone through much worse since then. It was always a sobering thought whenever she had it. 

“It did,” Vanya said. “It hurt a lot.” Five made a noncommittal sound, maybe sensing that she had more to say. “You were just eleven. You were kids. Shit, you were just little kids. You were barely older than Harlan.”

“It’s all right, Vanya,” Five said in the mild tone that passed as kindness with him. “It was a long time ago.”

“No, it’s—” Vanya felt her eyes prickle and she blinked until it passed. “It’s not really all right. I don’t think I realized how not all right it was at the time.”

“Do you regret getting the tattoo, then?”

“No,” Vanya said, cupping a protective hand over the bandage. “I don’t regret it. Do you think it’s stupid?”

“I have to admit, I don’t really get it,” he said, looking over at the dreary brick wall on the other side of the alley. His hair was mussed and he looked tired, though she couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen him look rested. Maybe not since before he’d left, back when they were children. “But you do you, I guess. It’s not really my place to comment on what you put on your body. Klaus tattooed Ouija board messages on the palms of his hands—that seems considerably more idiotic to me.”

Vanya snorted a laugh. Her tattoo still throbbed steadily with pain. It wasn’t just because of the symbol that she’d done it, she understood now—though it was in part about the symbol, of course. As a child, she’d drawn that logo on her wrist with a black marker and had done it over a few more times when it had started to fade after she’d showered. She’d hidden it from everyone, not wanting her father to tell her that she was being infantile or her siblings to make fun of her. To know that it was there, under the bandage, made a bubble of warmth burst under her sternum, a quiet happy feeling. But more than the symbol, it was also about the process, about going through the same pain that her siblings had known and feel like she was a little closer to them, understood them a little better. 

“Do you want coffee?” Five asked, tilting his mug at her. “Luther made it.”

“Yeah, sure,” she said. Luther made decent coffee, contrary to Klaus.

“Be back in a second.” Five blinked out in a flash of blue, then back with another mug. “Here you go.”

“Thanks, Five.”

“My pleasure.”

She joined him in leaning against the railing and together they drank their coffee in silence. It was hot and Vanya burned her tongue when she first tried a sip, but after a few minutes it had cooled down enough to be bearable and it was good, though a bit strong for her liking. It must taste perfect to Five.

“You know,” he said pensively, “when I found the others’ bodies in the apocalypse, it’s thanks to that tattoo that I knew who they were. You were all thirteen when I left. I wouldn’t have recognized them as a bunch of twenty-nine-year-old adults.” Vanya looked at him, stricken, and he winced. “Sorry. It slipped my mind. In my defense, I spent forty-five years thinking that someone with a glass eye had caused the apocalypse.”

It could certainly never slip _Vanya_ ’s mind that she’d caused the end of the world in several timelines and killed all of her family. “It’s fine,” she said, though it wasn’t nowhere near fine.

“My point is,” he said, “maybe you’re right about that tattoo. It binds us together. God knows we need a reminder that we’re a family, sometimes. And even if it’s the old man’s design, well… We can say that we’re ‘reclaiming’ it, as the kids say. Don’t worry too much about the others. They’ll get over it. One of them will do something stupid and all of that angry focus will swerve onto them.” He flashed her a wicked smile. “Wanna make a bet on who that’ll be?”

“I bet it’ll be Diego,” Vanya said with a small smile of her own. “I don’t know if he knows it, but I’m pretty sure he uses his powers on the dice.”

Five chuckled and said, bringing the mug to his mouth, “All right. I’ll take that bet.”


End file.
